


From Heaven With Love

by justapunk_asscrossroadsdemon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, SPN freeform - Freeform, wing!kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2009190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justapunk_asscrossroadsdemon/pseuds/justapunk_asscrossroadsdemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is sent to Earth for an important mission that will change the course of History and open Dean's heart up to love and acceptance. Also mentions of Sabriel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Receiving Summons

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya everyone this is my first fanfic so please be nice! Hope you like it :)

Castiel looked down longingly at the human couple; fingers intertwined in the other’s hair, bodies pressed flush against each other, and their lips- their lips hungry and roaming over throat, jaw... mouth.

 If they had felt the keen stare of the enochian eyes on them, they probably would have been embarrassed. However, being an angel had it’s advantages. But as he looked down upon them from Heaven, Castiel wondered if there weren't more pitfalls than profits to life as a celestial being.

Castiel would never tire of seeing the fiery passion in the eyes of a new, young couple - the way in which they could barely keep apart - and it fuelled him when his duty in and to God's kingdom became too much to bear; Castiel liked to imagine someone gazing at him the way those couples looked at each other. Man or woman, it made no difference to him, since angels don't worry about matters like gender. This angel just wanted to see the blush on someone’s cheeks as they squirmed under his gaze, or the feel of their hand in his as they walked down a crowded street - not to keep from losing the other but just because they _could_.

Cas’ ruminations were abruptly interrupted by the sound of large wings descending into his plane. His train of thought, and the ghost feeling of a warm hand tucked in his own hand, were lost and Castiel squinted menacingly at the form beside him… until he recognised his sibling, Uriel. Shit.

“Do not worry, brother Castiel. I am not upset with you. Indeed your facial expression was so primitive, I feared you had become human,” Uriel uttered almost unkindly, a manufactured twinkle in his eyes - the only sign that he was attempting to make a joke.

“You always have been the the most jocular angel in the garrison,” Cas replied stiffly as he plastered a polite smile onto his features. It was true, Uriel was the funniest angel in their garrison, but that didn't mean Castiel had to like it (or Uriel). However, it was imperative to Castiel’s survival in the kingdom that he play by the rules and with Uriel that meant obeying his every whim and command, and laughing at his “jokes”. It had been like this for centuries now, though, and Cas was beginning to resent the repetitive nature of his own existence; mooching around heaven decade after decade, watching the wars raging on in the world below but never being allowed to do anything to prevent it! It made Cas’ blood boil… _or it would if I had more than the emotional range of a tin can_ , he thought to himself sullenly in enochian.

“Castiel!” thundered the angel Uriel, “Am I interrupting your precious thoughts or may I relay to you the message that I came here to deliver?” he roared, voice dripping with boundless disdain. Castiel nodded vigorously, sensing Uriel's obvious discontent at being made to act as messenger to a lowly angel such as Castiel.

 "I possess knowledge that will be of particular interest to you, Castiel. Orders from Our Father himself,” Uriel spoke reverently, with a sharp edge of envy to his voice. Castiel smirked inwardly at that tinge of envy but continued to stare impassively at Uriel.

**** “There is a mission for you, Castiel. One that can be done by you and only you. It was... is your destiny to carry it out when the time comes. That time, according to the word of God, is now.” Uriel intoned gravely.

**** Castiel frowned, “I don’t understand, brother. Why now? And why me?” He had felt no shift in the atmosphere of earth, nor in Heaven. Neither had the voices of the archangels spoken of it in the subspace in his head (that every angel possesses, meant for communication amongst enochian beings over long distances).

**** “Because Our Father hath commanded that it be so!” countered the senior angel, with such a fearsome expression on his face that Castiel cowered, shrinking back from his brother in terror.

 The lush sound of large wings could be heard in the distance and suddenly a voice came from behind him, “Now, now brother,” a voice as smooth and sweet as honey admonished from behind Castiel, “There’s no need to get feisty.” A hand now laid protectively on Castiel’s shoulder.

**** “Balthazar!” Uriel growled resentfully, “This is not your business. This is between myself and Castiel.”

“Yes, well- the archangels told me that you were taking too long,” Balthazar related gleefully, his face lighting up like a child on Christmas morning, only with a wicked look in his eyes. His hand spun Castiel round to face him as he continued.

 “Listen carefully, Castiel, you need to assume your vessel and travel to Fort Gibson, Oklahoma. There you will find a human man and his brother living in their car. He is American, short brown hair, green eyes and about 6'3". And quite handsome i'd say," the smooth-talking angel admitted with a sly wink and a grin.

**"Your mission is to befriend them and make this man fall in love with you. He is very important to the survival of the human race. The archangels say that... well, he’s your soulmate, Castiel.”**


	2. Breakfast Not At Tiffany's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets two surprise visits, one from someone with whom he shares a profound bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the first chapter was brief (and so is this one) but please bear with me :)

Dean awoke to the smell of dew and a bad case of pins and needles, in the driver’s seat of his 1967 Chevrolet Impala. “Sonofabitch,” the hunter groaned as he took in the sight of the misted up car windows and shook out his dead legs. “That’s the last time I sleep in this goddamn car.”  he grumbled, then absent-mindedly patted his Baby on her dashboard to assure her that he didn't really mean it.

He was just grumpy because Sam got to sleep in a comfy motel bed, whilst he had had to rough it in the great outdoors. Not that he hadn’t done that before. During Dean's freshman and junior years in high school, John would kick him and Sammy out of the house for weeks on end and disappear, leaving them with only a bundle of used notes to buy food with and the beaten up Chevy for shelter.

Dean growled to himself at the injustice of it all, shaking his head to clear out the dredged up memories of the past to focus on the issue at hand. Thanks to Sammy, Dean had been the one whom the townsfolk had been chasing. After he had trapped, bound and attempted to exorcise their police chief in the town centre (admittedly, without permission), he'd been run out of town with pitchforks and torches. _I mean, w_ _ho does that in the 21st century?!_ Thought Dean incredulously. And all whilst Sam had been keeping a low profile and researching a case of “nocturnal, man-eating deer herds” that were supposedly showing up in Dakota and parts of Wyoming. Dean was pretty sure he’d just been using Dean’s laptop to surf the web for porn but whatever.

Thanks to that mishap, Dean was now at the top of Fort Gibson’s 'Most Wanted', Sam was sitting pretty, and they still had a possessed chief of police running loose around town.

 _Fantastic,_ he mused drily through a sleep-clouded haze.

The green-eyed hunter was just beginning to get the feeling back in his left leg when he felt the Impala shift and sink lower to the ground, as if someone had climbed on top of it.

 _Or something_ , thought Dean, already running 1,001 scenarios through his head.

Not making any sudden movements, Dean reached under his seat and pulled out his firearm (the one he usually keeps tucked into the waistband of his jeans). Taking the safety latch off the gun, Dean softly opened the door, wincing when it creaked and groaned, then diving head first into the dew-stained grass, rolling once and turning on one knee to point the gun at his assailant in the mid-morning light.

“Mornin’, Dean,” grinned an overgrown floppy haired sasquatch, perched on the trunk of the Impala, “Sleep well?” He took another languorous bite of his waffle.

Dean lowered his gun with a snarl and holstered it in the waist of his pants. “Dammit, Sammy! I could've put a friggin' hole in your skull! Don't you have the sense God gave you? Jeezus...” Dean yelled, pulling himself up from his knees to storm over to his, now indignant, little brother.

“Just shut up and eat your damn pie, Dean. I got your favourite; apple, right?” Sam replied smugly as he proffered up his bribe.

“For breakfast?” Dean muttered sceptically even as he began to dig into his takeaway carton full of pie and ice cream. Sam just grinned down at him fondly and took another bite of his waffle. The pair sat in a comfortable silence for some time chewing companionably and taking the occasional slurp of steaming coffee from a Styrofoam cup until Sam choked on a mouthful of breakfast-y goodness, eyes wide with surprise.

“Y’okay there, Sammy?” asked Dean, patting him on the back and chuckling, _trust this guy to have two run-ins with death in the space of five minutes_. When Sam regained his composure, albeit a little red in the face, his eyes were still wide and Dean wondered if maybe he really wasn’t okay after all.

The younger hunter grabbed Dean by the shoulder desperately and leaned in to put his mouth near Dean’s ear “So get this, on the way here I ran into a dude looking for a guy with a description matching you exactly and now he’s standing under a tree right over there, staring at us,” Sam whispered conspiratorially causing Dean to shiver as he followed Sam’s gaze to a lone evergreen pine located almost at the centre of the grassy clearing, and the figure that stood, upright and vigilant, beneath it’s upturned branches.

“Do you think it’s one of the townsfolk here to stake you out and report back to the others?” questioned Sam tentatively, a wicked grin spreading across his broad moose features “Or just an admirer of yours?”

“Oh, _hell_ no.” Dean growled as he leapt from his perch on the Chevy and began to stalk through the wet grass towards the shadowed figure, distinguishable by the outline of his trench coat against the pale light of the distant, dusky horizon, face hooded by the shade of the pine.

“Hey! You spying on me? Think you’re gonna run off to your little friends and tell 'em where I am? Think again!” Dean half-growled, half-yelled at the apparently nonplussed 'spy', stopping mere feet in front of him. He could smell the sea on him as the breeze swept past them, which was weird seeing as they were roughly 500 miles from the ocean. When the stranger remained silent, Dean got even more outraged, “Oh, you’re asking for it!” Dean lunged onto the trench-coated stranger. This, surprisingly, ended up with Dean atop of the stranger, straddling his hips and hands fisted in the front of the man's coat lapels.

 _What the fuck_.  _What's this dude playing at?_  Dean puzzled as the dark-haired man failed to put up a fight.Then he stopped.

 **** Normally Dean would have his firearm at the guy’s temple by now, at point blank range - but he was frozen. This man was... beautiful. The way his blue eyes reminded Dean of the clear waters of Lake Michigan poured over him, cooling the flames of his anger. The man’s dark brown (almost black) hair stood up in odd places like he’d just rolled out of bed, but managed to appear styled at the same time.

Dean glanced down at the man’s delicate pink lips. Then the jagged stubble on his jawline. Dean caught himself before he could reach out to run his fingers along the edge of it to feel the coarse hairs against the rough, work-worn skin of his thumb.

These thoughts caused his cheeks to catch fire in embarrassment. _What’s wrong with me? Since when am I a teenage girl, for christ's sake?_  Dean thought just as a soft hand came up to cup his unshaven cheek and caress it with slow, measured strokes that made the hunter's eyes bulge out of his head.

****“Hello, Dean.” murmured Castiel.** **


	3. Raised From Perdition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean come to see that they have met before under other, more grave, circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer, so enjoy :)

“It’s you,” breathed Dean.

Castiel’s hand fell away from his face in shock, “You remember me?” he asked in a gravelly tone.

Hesitantly, Dean licked his lips and mumbled “I remember your face… after the pit, the first thing I remember is your face.” Dean scrambled to his feet and peered down at the calm, collected stranger lying propped up on his elbows by Dean’s feet. _What the Hell,_  muttered the hunter inwardly as he searched his memory for more information on the horizontal freak he’d just tackled to the ground. All he could picture though, was the man’s face above his, lips moving, but he couldn’t remember what they’d said. He'd thought he was just hallucinating at the time.

Castiel, feeling undermined from his current position below Dean, lifted himself up from the ground and dusted himself off (not something he actually needed to do, being an angel and having the ability to rid his trenchcoat of grass stains with a snap of his fingers, but a very human ritual he had always wanted to try). Castiel grumbled

“Was that really necessary, Dean? I am-”

“Who? Who are you? ‘Cause I'm sure as hell we didn't meet in walmart… are you stalking me? And how do you know that name? I would never give my real name to a creep like you!” Dean flinched when he saw the look of hurt pass momentarily across the stranger’s face, then disappear just as quickly that Dean thought maybe he had imagined it.

Without making another move, Castiel replied calmly, “I am the angel Castiel and I-” was all he managed to get out before Dean interrupted his explanation with a loud snort. Castiel squinted at Dean and (in a motion so human-like it surprised even himself) tilted his head slightly to the left, “did i say something amusing?”

“Well, Cas," he guffawed loudly, "if you’re an angel, then I'm Katy Perry,” Dean sized up the man in front of him. Was this dude one beer short of a six pack? He wanted to signal Sam to get get his damn butt over here, only he didn't want to anger the ‘angel’ if he was delusional… _shit. Why had he opened his big mouth and mocked the guy??_ Cautiously Dean studied the older man’s features for signs that he might be pissed at him, but all he saw was confusion.

“I don’t understand that reference.” replied Castiel. The angel was still gazing at the hunter through narrowed eyes, head tilted at a 45 degree angle.

The combination of all three were too much for Dean, he couldn't contain himself, he just burst out laughing. Dean’s hands lay on his belly as the laugh rolled through his body and filled the rapidly brightening morning with the rich sound of unabashed happiness, it was a sound that surprised even Dean himself; he hadn't laughed that hard in a long time. But it was worth it, just to see the sheepish grin that appeared on Cas’ angelic visage that made Dean want to… _what? Snap out of it, Winchester._

Dean stopped himself short before his thoughts could get any more weird and turned to see his overgrown giant of a brother lolloping through the grass towards him and Cas.

Dean, cautious guy that he was, tried to warn Sammy that this guy obviously had a few bolts loose by flicking his eyes between the two men and screwing his index finger into the side of his head to signal that the guy was obviously cuckoo. Sam remained oblivious and continued on towards them, barrelling through the long grass like a one man stampede.

However smart that boy gets, thought Dean miserably, he’s still a dumbass little punk. He rolled his eyes heavenwards, then lowered them to the ground as he scuffed his boots on a nearby clod of earth.

“Hi, I'm Sam, this is my brother, Dean - or the guy who just tackled you,” Sam chattered breezily, chuckling at his own wit. Dean rolled his eyes once more at the fact that Sam had conveniently left out the part where he, himself, had been eyeing the guy with just as much suspicion as Dean had. “I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name. You are..?” Sam wittered on, extending a friendly hand out, yet again oblivious.

Castiel’s eyes finally shifted from Dean to Sam, fixing him with a chilling glare, “I am the angel Castiel. I am the one who gripped your brother tight and raised him from perdition.” replied Cas coolly. His face turned impassive, not giving any sign that he was at all kidding or that he might explain himself further.

After the longest, and most awkward, silence the trio had ever experienced, Sam lowered his hand slowly and cleared his throat a couple times before he spoke. “Right.” His voice came out as a strangled whisper, so he cleared his throat a third time, licking his lips for good measure, "Do you know each other?”

Silence ensued once more.

Cas looked to and fro between the two men in front of him. Face still emotionless, he calmly and patiently answered with a question of his own, “You do not believe that I am an angel of The Lord?” The more he contemplated it, the more his brow furrowed at the perplexity of his situation. His soulmate did not have faith? Castiel felt he might need to sit down. It made him worry if this were all perhaps an elaborate ruse constructed by Uriel- uhm no, not possible. Balthazar perhaps, but Uriel was too proud, too stiff, he’d been that way as long as Castiel could remember.

Castiel pulled the morning air deep into his vessel’s lungs in exasperation. He let out a sigh and inwardly cursed himself for being so short sighted.

"The pit."

Castiel looked up to see Dean looking at him with a mixture of confusion and just a hint of fear.  _The pit?_

"That's where we met. When I.. after that guy knocked me out, I remember waking up and seeing you there. You were talking but I couldn't hear you-"

"You had a concussion." explained the angel timidly.

 _Why had he not thought of this till now?_ The pit was a dark time for Dean, so maybe he had blocked it from his mind? Until Bobby had come to San Fran Cisco and got him out of his slump, he had been a perfect zombie. He'd slept in the day and hustled pool or gambled with anyone that would fight him. They'd often seen his small stature and drunken state and agreed to fight one round with him, winner take all. Dean had won a lot of money there, but spent it all on liquor.

 _Dark times,_ he thought gravely.

He looked up to see both Castiel and Sam staring at him worriedly. He hadn't realised he'd spaced out and now he looked back down at his booted feet in embarrassment for a second before continuing, "Why were you there, Castiel? And why are you here now?"

Castiel cleared his throat nervously. "You weren't actually supposed to remember this, Dean. I erased your memory of my being there so that you would never know that we had met previously." The conflict in his mind showed clearly on the shorter man's features. 

 _Not supposed to? Erased my memory?_ Thought Dean angrily. He was about to confront the distractingly attractive weirdo again when Sam piped up beside him.

"Is this some kind of 'Men In Black' shit? Who the hell are you?!"

Dean was beginning to become strangely endeared to the way Cas would tilt his head and squint his eyes when he was confused. It was quite cute, in a clueless kind of way.

**And then he was gone.**

 

 


	4. Hidden Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise between the two brothers as they begin to realise that maybe things aren't going as smoothly between them as they'd thought.

Dean, now sporting pants and his favoured leather jacket, slumped in the passenger seat and pouted. Genuinely pouted.

Sam didn’t know what to make of it; when Dean got angry, he was always sure to let Sam know, and loudly, too.

At least Sam guessed it was anger. The way his brother’s arms criss-crossed over his chest suggested to Sam that he was unconsciously blocking something out, and, the glazed look in Dean’s eyes was one he had only seen once before; the night he had left the Winchester household to go to Stanford and, for a fraction of a second, he had looked back into the lamplit doorway to see Dean standing there. The coldness in his eyes had chilled Sam to the bone, and now it made it uneasy to see it again.

His palms started to sweat, sticking like insects on flypaper to the steering wheel. Sam glanced nervously at Dean, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

Dean sighed. He’d noticed.

"You know, if you’re gonna be a little bitch about it, I can dump your ass with Charlie and take care of the man-eating deer by myself. Maybe get Bobby to come down and gimme a hand.” sighed Dean outwardly calm, not knowing that Sam could sense the repressed emotions bubbling beneath the surface. To keep up the pretence, the younger Winchester muttered a good-natured “Jerk!” under his breath and the brothers continued the rest of their drive in silence.

However, they were soon within sight of the fifties-style diner (where, they had been reliably informed, the chief of police grabbed a bagel and coffee every morning around eleven). And, sure enough, as Sam pulled in he noticed a police cruiser idling three cars down.

Dean stirred, shifting his weight and pulling himself up out of the car, before leaning in to add “Or, we can gank this asshat and send him back to the eternal sauna downstairs.” Dean finished coldly.

Sam nodded obligingly but as he exited the car and headed around to the trunk, he felt the sharp prickle of rebellion stabbing at him. Sometimes he wished that Dean would just quit lording it over him - acting like Sam was an errant puppy that couldn’t be house trained.

“Dammit, Dean, you’re not the boss of me! I mean you may drive the car, pick the music and even call the shots while we’re on hunts, and I get that; you’re more experienced than me, but enough is enough. Jesus Christ, just back off!”

Sam puffed out a frustrated breath, reaching into the trunk of the Impala. He pulled out Ruby’s knife and a pair of rifles loaded with salt shells, deftly tossing one to Dean without looking at him. He'd been startled by his own profession and wasn't ready to look his brother in the eye just yet.

“Maybe this just isn’t working any more.”

Sam looked up at his brother. Had he really just suggested that? “Really? After four years you want to throw the towel in?” he questioned angrily.

“We weren't gonna stick together forever, Sammy” Dean replied almost guiltily. Obviously he’d been thinking this over for some time now.

Sam gawked. "Is this about that phony angel guy? Just 'cause you let him get away, doesn't mean you get to harp at me and then come crawling back in a few weeks time when you've got some Wendigo on your ass and you need me to save you." The younger brother fumed.

Dean continued “For now, let’s get this job done, okay? We’re hunters. This is what we do: save people, hunt things.” 

“Yeah, the family business.” Sam sighed resentfully as he turned towards the diner. Dean followed after him,  _drama queen,_ he thought.

As the two boys headed inside, rifles cocked and Latin incantations on the tips of their tongues, the flutter of enormous wings could be heard only feet away, ascending into the lazy, pale morning sky.

**Dean turned towards the sound. He could have sworn he heard giant wings brushing the morning air against his cheek... seeing nothing, he forgot it almost instantly. Besides, his business was with demons... not angels.**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter was so short (again!) but i really wanted to post something and this was all that i've written over the past few days... but i'm looking forward to writing the next part, so stay tuned :)


	5. Assimilation Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel receives some unwelcome attention that turns to a brotherly bonding session as he attempts to find out who the new 'him' is.

_Meanwhile, at a food court in a shopping mall in Florida..._

 

“This sure is some elaborate game of pretend, little brother,” Gabriel teased, sifting through the evidence of Castiel’s new existence. Castiel was now ‘Castiel Gregorio’, licensed restaurant and bar owner, complete with dental records, passport and even a falsified family tree, all made possible thanks to Gabriel’s penchant for espionage.

“You’ve got it all, just… something doesn’t quite fit” - the slick-haired angel snapped his fingers in a moment of epiphany - “It’s the trench coat! You look like a freakin’ tax attorney, man. And not to diss your, um, style or anything but it make you look like you’ve had a stick up your butt since birth. _Not_ a hot look, trust me.”

Castiel gaped at his older sibling, what was wrong with his outfit? It was practical, suited his vessel, and kept his modesty. So, what was the problem? Also, what did these strange expressions he was using mean? Was ‘diss’ even a real word? Though he realised with displeasure that the term was derogatory which made no move towards further endearing him to the archangel who had offered up his services on the basis that this was what any good big brother would do. Castiel was sceptical about the Trickster’s motivations but he couldn’t afford to turn away any offers of help, no matter how irritating he found Gabriel.

Gabriel went on gently, seeing he’d have to tread lightly with the earthbound noob,

“Cassie, the humans change their clothes daily, or more, and if you wore that old thing day after day people might start to get, you know, weirded out.”

Cas bristled at the insult to his trenchcoat and became immediately defensive, “Weirded out? I don’t know this expression. Might you speak in terms I am more familiar with? Till I have gained my bearings, as least?” Castiel grunted in annoyance; being human was harder than he’d thought, especially with Gabriel for a mentor.

“Don’t worry, baby brother, we’ve got plenty of time to brief you on all the modern day slang. It takes time to adjust to the primitive ways of one homo sapien, ‘kay? You’re one of the most stubborn, willing and quick-learning angels I’ve known in millennia, so i’ve got faith in you. And i’ll be here to help you through it.”

Castiel could hear the sincerity in his brother’s voice and it gave him confidence that, just maybe, he could pull this off; he could pass for a human. He could soak up modern american culture and become someone that a guy (even one as far into the metaphorical closet as Dean) could fall for, which brought Castiel to another train of thought,

“What attire should I wear, Gabriel? I am willing to put absolute trust in your judgement on this matter, seeing that you have successfully grown into your human counterpart. You… you have done well for yourself, brother. I believe I may have misjudged you” A faint pinkness tinged Cas’ cheeks which was a new and not unpleasant sensation for the, yet still, trainee human.

The archangel quirked an eyebrow, “Well, let me be the first to tell you that being an archangel has it’s advantages. Even if you are fallen,” He produced three shiny credit cards, all in varying shades of gold. “Let’s get you some proper gear.”

*****

Castiel soon learned that shopping with Gabriel meant something altogether more terrifying than just walking around shops and choosing clothing. According to Gabriel there were three main elements to good clothes shopping: colour co-ordination, tight jeans and accessorising. Castiel wasn’t even sure what the last one entailed.

However, as Gabriel thrust a bedazzled spandex tank top to his chest and peered at him through narrowed eyes and pursed lips, he came to the conclusion that boundaries needed to be set, and fast, “Maybe we should try something over here?” suggested the angel nonchalantly, nodding his head towards a much less daunting pile of t-shirts in differing shades of blue, grey and green.

“Those? They do nothing for your eyes, Cas, not to mention the fact that they’re utterly shapeless. Not with that waist and those muscular arms. Nuh uh.” And just like that, Castiel saw his rebellion shut down which brought a new flurry of images to mind; a future of standing behind the till in feathered tees and sequined board shorts. He shuddered at the thought, then stopped himself. After all, Gabriel was doing his best to help him, and shouldn’t he be grateful? Balthazar and Uriel had basically said “Good luck, off you go!” and that had been that. He frowned inwardly at himself for being so selfish and decided he’d go for a compromise.

“I agree, brother, these are much too ‘shapeless’, but the colour appeals to me. Would it not be prudent to choose attire that suits my vessel’s body shape and that appeals to my visual senses?” The fledgling earth-dweller gave himself a mental clap on the back; he’d handled that well, he thought.

Until he saw Gabriel’s face crumpling up like an old newspaper, and he immediately went to his side to console him. “What I meant was, this” - he gestured to the offending tank top - “is unsuitable if I wish to become Dean Winchester’s beau. His wardrobe is quite monotonous, many plaid shirts and dark shades, and that leather jacket he appears to have an attachment to. Do you see my meaning? I would be more than happy to wear what you want me to but… it may not appeal to Dean. I apologise profusely, brother.”

Gabriel remained stoic in his verbal reticence. Castiel was going to have to ‘bring out the big guns’.

“Gabe?” Castiel intoned gingerly, draping his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders in what he hoped was a suitable display of brotherly affection.

The archangels eyes went wide and tears began to form at the corners of his eyes. He pulled away from Cas’ grasp and turned to grab Castiel by the shoulders. Castiel worried away at his bottom lip, _he'd obviously done it wrong and Gabriel was now about to tell him that he would never, ever help him again._

“D'you just, uh, call me ‘G-gabe’?” the tearful angel enquired, his voice cracking slightly with emotion.

Castiel looked up from the scoffed department store floor and nodded shyly. Tears were now fully formed in the other man’s eyes, his grip had tightened on Castiel’s shoulders and his mouth was opening and closing like a fish.  _I have rendered the trickster speechless,_ Castiel surmised, waiting for the dam to break.

Gabriel pulled in his brother for a tight hug, so tight that Castiel could barely breathe for a moment, making him struggle to break free but Gabe held on tight, only letting go when the angel began to make frantic noises in his arms.

“You’re not mad at me?” Asked Castiel, his voice betraying the incredulity he felt. Had he actually manoeuvred the situation correctly?

“Mad? Are you freakin' kidding me?! I’ve been waiting years for you to warm up to me and it’s taken you far too long, little brother. I don’t care what you say, you are only ever allowed to call me that from now on. You hear me?” Gabriel remarked, his chest puffed out with pride at having gotten through Castiel’s hard outer shell of indifference and sent up a silent prayer to his own personal saint, Dean freaking Winchester, for bringing the little guy down to earth. Literally.

**Unknowingly, Castiel had let an affectionate smile play on his lips as he gave his little big brother a light shove on the shoulder and Gabriel, seemingly satisfied with this reaction, set to babbling away about scarves and belts while Cas followed happily along behind him, deciding to take the hits as they came and prepare for life on a new plane. As a new person... and a new Castiel.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurrah, a chapter that doesn't end with tension. I'm sorry for all the tiffs but i promise to make it up with sunshine, lollipops and fluff of the Destiel kind (at least within the next three to four chapters!)


End file.
